Chapter 10: No Holiday for Spring Festival This Year

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The coal yard at the steel rolling mill was relatively close to the factory gate. After lunch, Duan Chengliang was scrubbing his lunchbox by the water trough when he heard the clamor of drums and gongs at the coal yard entrance, creating quite a lively scene. Curious, he held up his freshly cleaned lunchbox and walked toward the coal yard gate.

Several workers were already squatting by the wall near the gate, smoking and watching the commotion.

Duan Chengliang noticed several trucks packed full of people heading out of the factory and asked curiously, "Where are they off to? Looks like they're headed to the front lines of a battlefield."

Someone replied, "Our mill’s technicians are being sent to support the reservoir construction."

Reservoir construction? Duan Chengliang muttered to himself, why would they need technicians from a rolling mill for that?

At that moment, he caught sight of Jia Dongxu standing listlessly inside one of the trucks.

Jia Dongxu, a technician? He was only recently promoted to first-class fitter. With this doubt in mind, Duan Chengliang took a closer look at the others in the truck—they all seemed to be young workers. The true veteran technicians were nowhere to be seen.

Duan Chengliang asked a nearby worker, "Which reservoir are they supporting?"

"The Thirteen Tombs Reservoir, just started a couple of days ago. It’s a major project. I heard the publicity for this year’s Spring Festival started early; no holidays and no stopping work—got to push hard."

Oh, Duan Chengliang finally recalled. Yes, the Thirteen Tombs Reservoir project was indeed a huge undertaking that had just begun a few days prior. Many people from all fronts—workers, peasants, and soldiers—had been sent to assist. It seemed Jia Dongxu and the others were the personnel seconded from the rolling mill.

With less than a month to the New Year, they were being sent to the reservoir and likely wouldn’t be home for the Spring Festival.

A worker nearby asked, "Do you think the coal yard loaders might be pulled over there too?"

"Come on, why would they need us? They already have plenty of shovelers there. Besides, our mill is actually the one most short on people who can handle shovels. Even if we don’t go to the Thirteen Tombs Reservoir, we’ll probably have to work straight through the holiday anyway. They’re promoting working hard and fast to increase output, and the newspapers are already urging no holidays, no stopping work this year."

Listening to the workers’ chatter, Duan Chengliang sighed inwardly. This was his first Spring Festival here, and it looked like it would be spent in the spirit of sacrifice.

Well, what could he do? He had been reborn into the year 1958.

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That afternoon, a full railcar of coal was transferred from the station, so they toiled hard, working amid the swirling coal dust all afternoon.

Fortunately, they didn’t have to stay late; at least tonight there would be no burning the midnight oil.

Being a loader at the coal yard had its perks. They received more protective supplies—soap, towels, masks, gloves—than other posts in the factory, especially soap. The loaders practically wasted soap, but the factory was generous and didn’t count it against them, so they could use it freely.

What Duan Chengliang liked most was that coal yard loaders faced no restrictions on bathing. Conveniently, the rolling mill’s bathhouse was located just inside the coal yard gate in a separate courtyard adjacent to them, making it very easy for loaders to bathe.

Originally, there were limits: one bath ticket per person each day. But over time, the rules changed. The workers managing the bathhouse never stopped these coal-smudged loaders from entering.

So they benefited by saving their daily bath ticket, which became a sort of welfare they could trade for goods or cash.

Duan Chengliang bathed more frequently than anyone.

Other workers, even if given the chance, might bathe once a day at best. But Duan Chengliang, who had missed washing at noon today because he was fixing a shovel head, usually bathed once at midday, or else he couldn’t eat well.

There was another secret: many loaders, when given the chance to bathe, preferred to wait until they got home to wash off the coal dust.

Guess why? Heh, so that the coal dust would settle in their washbasins. Collect it over several days, and they could gather enough to make a few coal briquettes. Little by little, that was a decent extra income.

Though Duan Chengliang’s cotton jacket and trousers looked filthy outside, it was unavoidable. Without ration coupons for fabric or cotton, he couldn’t replace them.

But because he bathed so often and used soap liberally, his body underneath was clean.

Don’t be fooled by how tidy Xu Damou’s hair and clothes looked; he couldn’t compare to Duan Chengliang, who rolled around in the coal piles every day.

In those days, if one out of ten people could bathe daily, that was already good—especially in the dead of winter.

To be frank, if it hadn’t been for Qin Huairu being so freshly washed and spotless yesterday, Duan Chengliang might not have been so tempted.

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By the same token, the reason the two nearly came to blows yesterday was because Duan Chengliang was clean, causing no extra irritation to Qin Huairu.

Otherwise, like Shachu, who hadn’t washed in days, who’d want to share a bed with him?

Watching the TV scene where Lou Xiao’e was cozying up to him, Duan Chengliang felt a bit uneasy. Given their characters, the scruffy Shachu and the neat Lou Xiao’e couldn’t possibly end up together.

True filth was unimaginable. Not to mention lice crawling on head and body, at the very least, a random touch would leave one’s hand covered in grime, and then there was the smell from the nose.

Imagine that scene—how could anyone be in the mood for passion?

Of course, one couldn’t rule out that in those days, people weren’t particular and adapted to each other, so no one minded.

But Duan Chengliang couldn’t adapt. At least not yet—he had arrived too recently and hadn’t changed many of his old habits or aesthetic standards.

So just for the chance to bathe every day, he actually felt somewhat satisfied with his current job.

Today, having made a small breakthrough fixing shovel heads, Duan Chengliang was in good spirits.

He decided that tonight, with the half jin of white flour he earned from repairing shovel heads, he would make hand-pulled noodles to eat. After over a week of time traveling, he was beginning to forget the taste of white flour and was craving it badly.

Alas, there was no meat or sauce at home, or else he’d have had a bowl of zhajiang noodles. As a fallback, if he could get two eggs, he’d make egg noodles with gravy.

Walking along, Duan Chengliang swallowed hard, smacking his lips nonstop.

The snow had stopped early this morning, and the roads were beginning to thaw, turning muddy and making it harder for him to walk.

He guessed his worn cotton shoes would get soaked in mud again today, and he might have to clean them again at home, drying them slowly by the stove overnight. Hopefully, they’d dry in time tomorrow.